


The Kinky ABCs (Hetalia)

by AustenlySummers



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Dry Humping, Hotel Sex, Incest, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outdoor Sex, Public Display of Affection, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-03 00:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17273642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustenlySummers/pseuds/AustenlySummers
Summary: A Collection of smutty and/or kinky shorts A-Z





	1. Chapter 1

    **A is for Afternoon Delight**

**(GermanyxItaly)**

     “Ah, it’s such a beautiful day today, vee~” the Italian hummed as he skipped ahead of the German towards their picnic spot.  Germany almost would have chastised him for his carelessness—afraid he would drop the picnic basket in his excitement—but Italy was just too cute to say otherwise.  Germany let it go and followed Italy silently. 

    The checkered blanket was folded beneath Germany’s arm and he obediently laid it out in the place Italy wanted: high on the hill beneath a large tree, perfect shade from the hot afternoon sun.  Italy hummed and kicked off his shoes; he sat cross-legged on the picnic blanket, pulling the basket closer and opening it.  Germany dropped down beside him. 

    Italy giggled as he pulled out the items he had packed for their lunch.  Germany didn’t know what was so damned amusing about a picnic.  They were on the brink of war with the world and Italy still insisted upon packing a lunch and spending some time alone.  It hadn’t taken much for Germany to reluctantly agree to this absurd venture.  Absurd as it was, Germany didn't often find himself saying no to Italy's whims.  Part of him was almost grateful for the break.     

    Germany watched Italy unwrap his sandwich and take a bite.  The smaller nation closed his eyes and smiled, humming in satisfaction at the taste.  Germany looked away, focusing his attention on the vale below their picnicking spot.  They were rather far from Germany’s house, but Germany wasn’t complaining.  The walk in the clear air was refreshing, even if Italy had talked his ear off the entire way here.  He felt Italy’s foot nudge at his leg.  He looked back over to Italy. 

    “Sandwiches are good,” Italy told him with a smile.  “You should try one…”  He pushed the picnic basket towards Germany. 

    Germany sighed and reached for the basket.  He rummaged through it, looking for a plastic wrapped sandwich.  His fingers closed around something much different.  Germany frowned a bit as he fished the familiar bottle from the depths of the picnic basket.  He didn't need to ask, but ask he did, staring at the nondescript bottle in his palm.  

    "What's this...?"

    Italy looked over to what Germany was holding and reported—in that overly enthusiastic bright smiled way only Italy could—, “It’s lube.”

    Germany groaned and replied, “Ja, I know _what_  it is but…why is it here?” 

    Italy grinned and told Germany, “You seemed stressed so I thought maybe I’d help you relax a little.”  Italy finished his sandwich and licked mayo from his fingers.  Germany couldn’t help but stare.  “Aren’t you hungry?” Italy asked, cheerful demeanor faltering somewhat as he noticed Germany wasn’t enjoying any of their meal.  “Was a picnic a bad idea?” 

    Germany shook his head quickly, eyes still glued to the bottle in his hand.  “Nein, I appreciate the…forethought…” 

    Italy followed his gaze to the lube and smiled again.  “Do you just want to fuck me?” he asked, crawling across the blanket to sit on his knees next to Germany. 

    Germany gaped at him.  Italy was rarely ever so bold, and certainly never so crass.  The Italian took the bottle from Germany's palm and giggled softly as he set it aside.  He wrapped his arms around Germany’s neck as he crawled into Germany’s lap, straddling his hips.  His hands ran up under the fabric of Germany’s light jacket, slipping it from his shoulders. 

    "It's okay if you want to," Italy told him, smile as bright as ever.  "I want you to enjoy yourself."

    Germany was caught off guard to say the least.  Despite himself, an arm wrapped around the Italian’s waist and he pressed a kiss to the corner of the Italian's lips.  Italy giggled, tilting his head in an irresistibly cute gesture, before pressing his own kiss to Germany's lips.  They sat there for a moment, exchanging slow, lazy kisses, before Italy was pushing him back onto the blanket; Germany blinked up at Italy, brow furrowed in slight confusion.  Italy kissed him again.  A soft breeze played through the Italian’s russet brown tresses, pushing a fringe of dark hair over his eyes.  Germany reached up and pushed his bangs back.  Their gazes met.  Germany licked his lips as Italy leaned down as if to kiss him.

    “Ti amo,” Italy murmured against Germany’s lips, running his hands down Germany’s chest. 

    Despite the comfortable spring temperatures, Germany’s skin began to warm.  Italy’s small, slender fingers toyed with the hem of his tank top and easily inched it up the German’s chest.  Germany sat up and yanked it off with a tug.  Italy’s hands settled on the German’s exposed chest.  He seemed in awe, tender in his touch and expression.

    “Ich liebe dich,” Germany returned the sentiment.

    Italy's smile only warmed him further.  The smaller nation rolled his hips against Germany’s, coaxing a low moan from Germany’s lips.  Italy pushed him back down again and continued to roll his hips, letting out soft whines now and again; a hand moved to tug at Germany’s belt.  Italy seemed to have trouble unfastening it, perhaps due to impatience or just pure Italian incompetence, but Germany’s large hand fell over the Italian’s smaller one.  Germany worked his belt off himself and tossed it away.  Italy’s fingers unbuttoned his trousers and starting pushing the thick fabric down his hips when Germany seized the opportunity. 

    While Italy was preoccupied with disrobing him, Germany sat up and effortlessly flipped him onto his back and straddled him, switching their positions.  Italy hit the ground with a soft—albeit adorable— _oof_ , blinking up at Germany with a startled gaze.  Germany caught those slightly parted lips in a deep kiss.  His own hands wandered to work the Italian’s pants from his hips, tugging them off and adding them to the growing pile of needless clothing.  Italy pressed his hands against German’s chest in a feeble effort to push Germany away.  Germany wouldn’t have it.  He scattered kisses across Italy’s face: his forehead, eyelids, flushed cheeks, swollen lips.  He trailed them along his jawline and down his neck.  Italy whimpered. 

    “What is it?” Germany inquired, taking one of Italy’s hands from his chest and kissing his knuckles reverently.  If there was one thing he adored, it was ravishing his darling Italy in all of the affection and attention he deserved. 

    Italy whined again and wiggled against Germany’s solid form.  “G-get off…wanna be on top…” 

    Germany hesitated a moment at the other’s words.  “…oh…” 

    Italy blinked in confusion.  “Not good…?” he ventured.

    “Nein, nein.”  Germany shook his head, regarding his partner with a slightly bemused expression.  "Surprised is all.”  Surprised that Italy, as lazy as the other nation tended to be, would want to take the more active position.  He'd never asked to do anything like this before... not that Germany was complaining. 

    Italy smiled as he coaxed Germany to lie back once more.  The smaller nation clambered back over Germany and straddled his thighs.  The sun behind him cast his skin in a golden glow.  Germany couldn't help but think of him as beautiful.  Well... Italy was always beautiful, but moreso even now.   

    The Italian caught the other's stare and an adorable pink flush dusted his cheeks.  "...You're staring," he accused, though his tone was gentle. 

     "You're beautiful," came the rather breathless response.

     Italy giggled, bringing his palms to lay flat against the other's pectorals.  He responded with a brief, "Thank you, Germany," and followed the words with a sweet kiss.  It was only moments later when he had pushed Germany’s pants and boxers further down to take Germany’s cock in hand and give it a few loving strokes.  Germany groaned in response, letting his head fall back against the ground. 

    Italy felt for the bottle of lube, never taking his eyes off Germany.  Germany was so strong and sexy and  _beautiful_.  He squirted a dollop of lube into the palm of his hand, closing his fingers around Germany’s cock and stroking him once more, coating his cock in the thick substance.  After a few languid strokes, Italy’s hand retreated.  Germany cracked open an eye, not even remembering closing them.  The sight he caught was absolutely erotic. 

    Italy—his Italy—dug his fingers into Germany’s sides for leverage as he lowered himself onto the German’s thick shaft.  The Italian’s eyelids fluttered close as he sunk onto Germany’s cock with a wanton moan.  The breath caught in Germany’s throat.  Once he was fully seated, the Italian sat there a moment, euphoria seeping across his features. 

    “You…feel so good in me…” Italy told Germany in a few breathy pants.  His eyes fluttered open again and he looked down at Germany.  He leaned down and caught the German in a deep kiss; when he pulled back, Italy licked his lips and began to move. 

    Germany’s strong hands alighted to Italy’s hips to steady him.  Every time Italy moved down, Germany's hips canted upwards to meet him.  The Italian’s fingernails occasionally dug into Germany’s skin, but Germany was too preoccupied to care.  The Italian;s breath came in quick labored breaths as he bounced himself on his lover’s cock.  Germany was enjoying this just as much as Italy seemed to be.  It felt so good, the way Italy clenched around him whenever he rose up, only to come back down hard with a soft mewl of pleasure.  He thrust up, deeper and deeper, drawing even more whimpers and pleas from the Italian. 

    “Mmm _Ahhhh_ ,” Italy mewled as Germany met him with a particularly rough thrust.  His hips stuttered of their own volition and he gasped a bit. 

    Germany smiled up at his lover’s beautiful flushed face.  He reached out and wrapped his arms around Italy, pulling himself up and settling Italy into his lap to continue bouncing on his cock.  Italy threw his arms around Germany’s neck and buried his face in Germany’s neck.  Germany took the opportunity to smother Italy’s skin in kisses wherever he could reach. 

    “You’re so beautiful,” Germany muttered, voice low and guttural in Italy’s ear.  “Do you know how beautiful you are?  All wanting and pleading…”  His hand reached between them, taking hold of the Italian’s neglected cock.  Italian let out a soft broken sob.  Germany smoothed a hand over Italy’s hair soothingly, catching his curl on the way through. 

    The muscles in Italy’s thighs tightened and he threw his head back, gasping for breath as Germany stroked him to orgasm.  Germany closed his eyes and thrust into Italy one, two, three more times in rapid succession.  He grunted and climaxed, filling Italy with hot quick spurts. 

     Italy’s muscles gave out and he collapsed onto Germany, knocking them both back onto the blanket with complimentary ‘oof’s.  They lay there a moment, catching their breath in the glow of their shared orgasm before Italy giggled and shakily pushed himself up on Germany's chest.   

    Germany looked to his partner with a fond smile, again pushing sweaty fringe from Italy's eyes.  With gentle movement, he helped slide the smaller nation off him.  Italy immediately took the oppurtunity to cuddle up beside Germany on the blanket.  Germany rested an arm around the smaller nation and pulled him close. 

            “Vee~” Italy breathed.  “That was wonderful, Germany.”  He nuzzled against Germany and met him with a lazy kiss.  “Are you less stressed now?” 

            Germany couldn't help but chuckle.  His little Italian counterpart could be so thoughtful when he wanted to be.  With a soft smile, Germany leaned in and met the kiss.  “Ja, danke.”  Germany closed his eyes and let the worries of the world wash past him.  The only thing that mattered at the moment was the adorable, still slightly breathless Italian curled up next to him.  And that was more than enough for him.   


	2. Chapter 2

**B is for Bondage**

**(GermanyxPrussia)**

 

           “We- _est_!  Come out, come out wherever you are!”

            Germany let out a half groan half growl beneath his breath as he heard his brother in the hallway.  Prussia was supposed to be on reconnaissance in Austrian territory, not wandering around the house looking for him.  Not using  _that_  tone of voice.  The high-pitched, almost mocking tone meant either one of two things: Prussia was drunk or he was horny.  And given the situation Germany could not be bothered by either.  He groaned again upon hearing Prussia stop outside the office door.  As expected, he didn’t knock.  Prussia barged his way right in without so much as an apology.  Germany glared up at him from behind his desk.

            “What do you want?” he growled, knowing far too well what his older brother wanted.  One look at him and Germany could tell. 

            Prussia smirked and stalked to where Germany say, predatory gaze never leaving his brother’s.  He settled his palms on the flat surface of Germany’s desk and leaned in close.

            “I. Want. To. _Fuck_. You.”

            Each word was punctuated with a drum of his fingers against the polished rosewood.  He licked his lips and gazed eagerly at the younger nation... like a lion ready to pounce.  Germany’s expression remained a passive façade.  After a moment, Prussia seemed to get bored by Germany’s lack of response; he slipped around the desk and moved behind Germany’s chair, hooking his strong arms around his brother’s shoulders.  A gloved hand moved to rest gently at the base of Germany’s neck.  Prussia let out a low hum of pleasure and murmured in his brother’s ear, “Hmm, can you imagine it, West?  The Awesome Prussia tying his beautiful baby brother to the chair.  Teasing you with the fingers you like so much?  I could ride you…feel your needy cock pulse inside me as I…”

            “Enough.” 

            Strong fingers caught Prussia’s wrist and pushed him aside.  Prussia stepped back, arching an eyebrow and crossing his arms as he did so.  His tone wasn't offended.  Instead, he let out a little scoff of interest, slipping beside the other's chair to lean back against the desk and fix the younger nation with a pointed stare.  “Oh?  Was little West contemplating something else?” Prussia teased mercilessly.  “Would you rather I throw you over my knee and spank you for being so disrespectful?”

           Germany’s impassive lips twitched into a hint of a smile.  He shook his head and responded with an even, “Nein.”  Prussia watched in amusement as his brother’s hands darted to his belt, deftly unbuckling and slipping the leather from his hips. 

           “You’re going to let me watch, then?  What a naughty boy you are, West.” Prussia assumed, intrigued. 

           Germany didn’t answer.  He merely beckoned Prussia closer and the albino went with little reservation.  Once he was within easy grasp, Germany reached out and seized Prussia from around the waist, pulling him into his lap.  Prussia let out a strangled cry of protest, but after a moment of tangled limbs, heavy breathing and a fair amount of half-hearted wrestling, Germany managed to get Prussia right where he wanted him: settled on his lap with his hands caught behind him, bound at the wrist by Germany’s belt.  Prussia writhed and fought against the restraints, positively glaring at his brother.  It was Germany’s turn to tease. 

           “You struggle so beautifully, bruder.”

           “Dammit, West!  Release me this instant!  Awesome Prussia will not be debased to some…”

           “Some what?” Germany interrupted, tapping his gloved fingers against his brother’s chin.  “Some lap dog?  No, I suppose difficult bitches don’t deserve the luxury of sitting on their Master’s laps, now do they?” 

           Before Prussia could protest, Prussia found himself kneeling on the floor with his brother’s boot weighing heavy on the back of his head, forcing his face against the wooden floorboards.  He struggled vainly, receiving only a gentle pressure to his head at his attempts at escape. 

          “Now, I’m rather busy with very important paperwork, so I will need the little bitch to behave himself until I can attend to him, ja?” 

          Prussia’s words were muffled against the floorboards, but even through the muffling, Germany could make out the distinctive "fuck you".  Germany tsked in response.  He let up his boot a little and tipped the Prussian’s chin up with the toe of his shoe.  “What was that, _bitch_?”

         “ _Yessir_ ,” Prussia replied vehemently. 

         “Good.”  Germany let his foot fall away and he gestured for Prussia to kneel beside his chair.  Prussia grumbled about it, earning a sharp smack to the back of his head from the less than amused German ordering him about.  Prussia quickly got the point and shuffled forward on his knees, settling himself in the requested position beside his brother.  Germany reached down and gently guided Prussia’s head to rest against his thigh, allowing his fingers to card through the albino’s hair, before directing his attention back to his work. 

         Prussia remained obediently silent despite his obvious discontent towards the situation.  He focused his attention and efforts on freeing himself from the belt looped around his wrists, but Germany caught him struggling and smacked him again.  His voice was firm as he noted, “None of that.  Sit there like a good boy and I’ll get to you soon.”  He smirked at the look Prussia was giving him, and he smoothed a hand over his hair to further his point.  Prussia resorted to a rather undignified pout, but Germany ignored him.  It wasn’t the first time Germany had set his older brother straight.

        Another hour passed and Prussia was getting a bit restless kneeling there quietly (kneeling and quietly are pretty much foreign vocabulary to that nation) on the floor.  To this point he had kept his head bowed in a sort of begrudging submission, but he took a moment to glance up at Germany and see if his brother had finished whatever terribly important work he’d been immersed in.  He was still hard at work, but upon feeling his brother’s gaze, Germany looked down. 

       “You wish to speak?” Germany inquired, seeing the rather pinched expression on his brother’s face. 

        “I wish you’d untie me and let me go, damned brat,” Prussia hissed. 

        Germany clucked his tongue and noted, “That’s no way to speak to your superiors, bruder.”

        “Superiors?” Prussia scoffed.  “You’re hardly my superior being centur…”

        Germany silenced him with a sharp look, and a hand raised in warning, though didn't meet it's target as Prussia settled a bit at the threat. “Don’t talk back to me, understood?”

        Prussia grit his teeth.  “Yessir,” he answered coldly. 

       “Good.  Once you’ve learned some proper manners then I would be happy to untie you and send you on your way.  You are supposed to be working; why are you still here when I gave you specific instructions to be somewhere else?” Germany wanted to know.

       “Your stupid missions are always boring,” Prussia complained.  “And I didn’t want to go spy on stupid Austria because he’s stupid and wouldn’t even notice me anyway.”

        Germany let out a long sigh and pointed out, “The point of spying is not to be noticed.” 

        “Whatever.  I’m too awesome for that.”

         Germany let out an exasperated breath and told him, “I... _we_ ," Germany corrected, none too subtly, "are trying to win a war.  I am doing my best to keep either of us killed, and you are being less than helpful.” 

         “I never asked to fight your war, West.”

          “I’m afraid that comes with the territory,” Germany responded, though his tone had softened considerably.

          Prussia frowned and struggled against the belt once more; seeing his brother’s struggles, Germany reached down and smoothed a gloved hand through Prussia’s white hair.  “Shh,” he soothed him.  “Just a while longer and I will take care of that.”

          "I’m being utterly useless,” Prussia grumbled, having grown bored of simply kneeling there while his brother worked.  “Let me go and I’ll do that stupid Austria thing you wanted me to do.”

          “Reconnaissance.”

          “Yeah, that.” 

          “Mm, tempting,” Germany noted, not sounding tempted at all.  Prussia pouted and Germany chuckled.  He pat his lap, indicating Prussia come sit with him.  Prussia took the invitation, scowling at the awkwardness of not being able to use his arms.  Germany assisted him, settling him comfortably in his lap once more.  “If I untie you, are you going to be good?”

          Prussia rolled his eyes and responded, “You don’t have to treat me like a child.”

          Germany, unfazed, repeated, “If I untie you, are you going to be good, brother?”

          Prussia let out a long exasperated sigh and answered, “Yes, West.”

          Germany tilted Prussia’s chin up with his hand and gave him a long, skeptical look before deciding that Prussia was telling the truth.  He nodded curtly and removed the belt from Prussia’s wrists.  Prussia huffed and rubbed his wrists where the leather and bitten into his wrists. 

         “Enjoying the use of your hands?” Germany asked with the slightest him of a smirk. 

          Prussia shifted on Germany’s lap and hooked his arms around Germany’s neck.  He answered in a low tone, “I can think of many uses for them.  My offer from earlier still stands.”

          “Offer?” Germany scoffed.  “That was a statement.”

          “Fine, whatever.  My  _statement_  from earlier still stands.”

          Germany just gave his brother a look.  Prussia rolled his eyes again and sighed, “I see you will need a bit of convincing.”  He ran a hand down Germany’s neck, chest, and abdomen before settling it neatly on his crotch, pressing lightly against the fabric of his pants.  Germany hissed slightly and Prussia chuckled.  “Now, now, West.  Would you like to see what these hands can really do?”    


	3. Chapter 3

**C is for Crush**

**(FrancexCanda)**

 

            Canada had been waiting for what seemed like hours in the dingy hallway outside the conference room.  They had locked him out.   _Again_.  He didn’t think they did it on purpose but _still_... it happened on more than one occasion.  There wasn't much he could do about it; after all, every time he had attempted to bring it up he had only been drowned out again.  So he stopped mentioning it and now he sat, knees drawn up under his chin, arms curled around his legs, and waited.  

            After what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened and the other countries spilled out of the conference room.  Canada jumped to his feet, searching the mass of nations to pick out who he was looking for.  As he scanned the crowd a body bumped into him.  Both nations looked up, startled. 

            “Excuse me,” France apologized politely, shuffling the papers in his hands. 

            Canada blushed a bit and stammered, “I-It’s okay…”

            France held his gaze for a few scrutinizing seconds before he brushed past the Canadian and went on his way.  Canada watched him go, a familiar ache settling deep in his abdomen.  Before he had much time to acknowledge his own wistful reflections, a hand clamped onto his shoulder and the familiar -- albeit obnoxious -- voice greeted him. 

            “Yo, bro!  So, how about that meeting, huh?  France was totally checking you out the whole time,” his brother snickered.

            “Huh?  But I wasn’t…”

            “I know, he was totally staring off into space.  Like… _completely_ entranced,” America interrupted. 

            Canada sighed.   His brother may have been dumb, but Canada didn't actually think he was dumb enough to assume his northern counterpart was filling empty space... Why was he always invisible to everyone?  Though at America's words, he couldn’t help but wonder if France had been daydreaming about him…? 

            “Why don’t you ask him out?”

            “ _Eh?_ ”

            “You know, like on a date?”  America prompted.  “Jeez, kid, you’re practically French.  Aren’t you supposed to be an expert pick up artist or something?” 

            Canada sighed again.  He said, “Look... Francis isn’t that into me.”

            “Dude, don’t give me that.  I saw him.  The _entire_ meeting.”

            Canada didn’t feel like arguing.  He mumbled a halfhearted farewell to his brother and started off down the hallway.  He just wanted to get back to his hotel room, maybe try to find someone to give him the notes from the meeting since he knew America wouldn't bother to share.  He was wandering, minding his own business, when he rounded a corner and froze.  There—right in the middle of a public hallway for everyone to see—was France and England.  England had his back pressed against the wall, arms around the Frenchman’s neck.  France had a leg pressed between England’s thighs, and by their mutual shameless rutting both nations seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the experience.  Canada’s jaw dropped at the sight.  He froze in place, somehow unable to move.  Something sifted inside of him.  Embarrassment?  Guilt?  …jealousy??

            Canada turned on his heel and ran.

            Canada didn’t stop running until he was safely back in his hotel room.  The breathless Canadian dropped onto the bed in a crumpled heat, burying his face in a pillow.  He hadn’t realized he’d been crying until he felt the damp warmth against his cheeks.  He felt so childish for reacting with tears.  It wasn’t like it was unusual to find France in those situations.  At least it shouldn’t have been.  But lately Canada had developed a bit of a crush on the older nation.  A bit?  Canada was hopelessly and desperately in love.  And while that shouldn’t have been a problem given France’s personality, it  _was_  a problem.  Because France attempted to seduce every country  _except_  him. 

            As Canada was curled up in bed replaying what he had seen in that hallway over and over again in his head—and feeling more and more miserable about it—his train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door.  Must be America, Canada thought as he sat up and dried his tears.  Without checking to see who was calling, Canada answered the door with a quiet, “Look, America, I don’t really want to ta—oh…France…”  His words stuttered to a stop as he met the Frenchman’s crystal clear gaze.  He swallowed hard.  “W-what…what are you…?” 

            “I came to see you,” France interrupted airily.  He entered the Canadian’s room without invitation.  “You escaped rather quickly, no?”

            “Um…e-escaped?” Canada repeated.  He watched helplessly as France invaded his space, invaded the very air Canada breathed.  He didn't say anything to stop it.  Instead, Canada closed the door behind France and turned to face the other nation.  “I don’t…”

            “In the hallway.  With Angleterre.” 

            “O-oh…r-right….” Canada’s words were escaping him.  He couldn’t think properly.  His eyes were glued to France.  Why would France want to see him?  Especially after that?  Did he think Canada would say something?  Did he want to swear him to secrecy?  Was he upset?  Was France going to yell at him?

            France went to sit on the hotel bed.  He pat the empty space beside him in a fond, familiar gesture.  Canada didn't move from his position glued by the doorway.

            “I hope I didn’t startle you too much, mon cher," France continued, "Or…make you jealous…?”  It was not quite a statement, not quite a question.  Canada’s vibrant flush was all France needed as an answer.  “Ah, you are jealous, no?  And why is that, I wonder?” 

            Canada wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer or not.  France had figured it out for himself and saved Canada the trouble. 

            “You believe I am wasting my time and attentions on other nations,” France decided with a casually dismissive air.  He waved his hand and assured him, “It is cute, no?  You are rather…hm, how to put this…?  Silently possessive?” 

            Canada’s blush deepened.  He shook his head quickly and stammered, “N-no…no.  I mean, you can…um…date whoever you want so I…”

            “Date?” France quirked an eyebrow.  “I haven’t been on a proper date in a long time, mon cher.”

            “W-well…w-whatever you do with…whomever…”

            France somehow managed to look even more amused.  “Would you like to go on a date with me, Mathieu?” 

            Canada shivered a bit when France addressed him by his French name.  He didn’t hesitate.  Canada nodded a yes without thinking.  His cheeks burned. 

            France laughed and rose from the bed.  “But you would like more than a date, mm?” 

            Again, Canada’s nod was automatic.  He took a step back as France steadily approached him.  His back hit the door.  France closed the gap between them in a few easy strides.  A slender hand settled itself on the door above Canada’s head, effectively pinning him there.  Canada blinked in surprise; France returned the astonished gaze with a small smile. 

            “What would you like to do to me, mon cher?” 

            Canada didn’t hold back.  Those words granted permission enough, and Canada had to act now lest the courage escape him.  In a swift motion, Canada leaned in and caught France’s lips in what could possibly be the most sweetly passionate kiss the Canadian had ever experienced.  It certainly seemed to be for France.  The blue eyes widened momentarily in surprise, but the Frenchman easily eased into the kiss, humming in satisfaction at the other’s enthusiasm.  When Canada pulled back, France licked his lips and grinned. 

            “Not as innocent as you seem,” he noted lightly. 

            Canada shrugged halfheartedly.  He responded, “I suppose not.” 

           France's grin was predatory as he pressed closer, shifting a knee to knock Canada's legs wide enough to accommodate his form.  He pressed in close, mimicking the position Canada had stumbled upon in the hallway just hours before.  Canada swallowed hard.  There was no hiding the arousal pressed against the Frenchman's thigh.

            "Eager, are we?" The lilting purr and persistent press France's thigh had Canada squeaking out a response.  France's free hand rose to cup the Canadian's jaw.  "Go ahead, mon cher... Take what you want... What you've been waiting for."

            Canada's entire face flushed at the implication.  The uncertainty colored his features, but Francis urged him forward with a soft, "For _me_ , Canada..."

            That was enough.  Permission granted, again, not unlike the kiss, and Canada let his head fall back as he rutted desperately against France's thigh.  Francis was there, above him, pinning him, surrounding him with the beautiful lilting accent that urged him on, spurred him towards his goal.  Canada's body trembled.  He felt a rush of physical and emotional release that threatened to bubble over.  France's hand slithered down, pressing delicately against his hip.  

            "That's it..." the Frenchman purred, low and sultry.  "That's it, mon amour... _Come_... _Come for me_."

            And Canada did so obediently, letting out a kittenish mewl as his body pulled taut, wetting the front of his slacks with an obscene excess of fluid.  Canada immediately flushed from the embarrasment of it all, wanting desperately to run and hide from what he had just done.  France kept him pinned, though his hands were soft against him.  

            "Good, mon cher?" France murmured.

            “Y-yeah…France…” Canada said the name delicately, as though sampling a very fine wine.  He swallowed thickly.  "I...?"  The question melted against his tongue, Canada almost afraid to ask.

            "Yes?"   

            Canada swallowed thickly, daring to meet France's bemused gaze.  “Why…why don’t you… _notice_  me?” he finally squeaked out. 

            France was quiet for a couple of moments.  Just as Canada was begging to regret even voicing the words, France let out a warm bark of laughter.  “Oh Matthieu, darling, I notice you all the time.” 

            “Y-you do?” Canada squeaked, seemingly awestruck. 

            France chuckled again.  “Oui.  And that is why there is no need to chase you.  Because you are already mine.” 

            He didn’t know if it was physically possible to blush any more than he already had, but Canada was certainly sure he managed to.  His whole body must have been an astonishing shade of red.  France fluttered his eyelashes at him and noted in a low, soft tone, “Mm, you like the sound of that, Matthieu?”  France took Canada’s hand and pulled it to his lips.  He kissed his knuckles reverently, moving down his fingers before…

            Canada squeaked in alarm and pulled his hand away from France’s probing tongue.  The alarmed nation stuttered, “W-what…what…?” 

            France’s fingers closed around his arm and he tugged Canada forward.  “You are not chasing me very hard, mon cher…”

            Canada cast wide eyes at the other nation as France dipped his head and was reaching for his lips again.  Canada met him eagerly.  Tongues probed at each other’s mouths, lips, and cheeks, matching the rhythm at which hands were roaming through hair, over skin and under clothes, breaths hitching and hips grinding and though he had just come moments before, Canada could feel himself getting hard again.  His fingers tugged at France’s shirt and he whined piteously against the other’s lips. 

            “Please…” he murmured. 

            France’s hands were sliding down his body, grabbing firmly at his thighs as he hoisted him up and carried the Canadian to the hotel bed.  He pushed him onto the mattress and continued to ravish him in kisses and soft caresses, clothes carefully peeled away from sweaty skin and whimpers, cries, and moans of French musings echoed off the hotel room walls. 

            In the warm aftermath of what Canada could only consider a rare victory, the Canadian cuddled up against the other nation with a small smile.  He nuzzled against France’s chest and murmured, “Do I still get that date, eh?” 

            France chuckled, smoothing a hand over Canada’s pale blonde hair.  He nodded and agreed, “Oui, mon amour.  Whatever your heart desires.” 

            Canada smiled.  “Je vous aime.”

            “Oui, je t’aime aussi.”  He slung an arm around the Canadian’s waist and pulled him closer, slipping off to sleep with the smaller nation wrapped safely in his arms.  


	4. Chapter 4

**D is for Dessert**

**(SpainxRomano)**

       Romano leaned across the table and took the offered spoonful of gelato.  His eyelids fluttered closed at the icy treat and a soft noise of contentment rumbled in his throat as he swallowed the dessert.  Spain withdrew the spoon slowly, watching the way Romano’s lips puckered slightly, then parted with a soft sigh. Green eyes met each other’s gazes.  

       “Good?” Spain inquired.

       Romano nodded, response a distracted, “Mmhm.”

       “Would you like some more?" 

       The response was the same.  Spain scooped up another mouthful of gelato and spoon fed the Italian from across the table.  To innocent eyes, the scene may have played out as a public display of affectionate indulgence; Spain, however, knew better.  He knew what this did to Romano. The Spaniard had been conditioning his little Italian for months. He’d gotten into the habit of introducing food into their sexual encounters.  Whether it was sharing a meal beforehand or experimenting with whipped cream and chocolate syrup, Romano's body had learned that food was an interlude to sex. But not just food. Spain  _ feeding _ him food.  And his body had started to crave it.  

       Romano hadn't put two and two together.  He attributed the Spaniard's sudden interest in all things food to some long suppressed food kink.  Not that he minded. He would be lying if he told him he didn't like it, Spain showering him in attention as he shared spoonfuls of the delicious gelato with the Italian.  Despite the heat of the day and the crowded boardwalk, with the tilty wire table between them, Romano was far too focused on the other's gestures to find anything to complain about.

       “There you go… last bite,” the Spaniard cooed.

       Romano's lips closed around the plastic spoon.  Spain suppressed a little shiver at the Italian's blissful expression.  His plump lips made a slight popping sound as Spain pulled back the utensil.  Romano let out a soft hum of satisfaction; his expression was not one often seen on the Italian, save for in the most intimate of situations he only shared with Spain.  Spain tapped his nose with the spoon. He murmured, "Hey...what's that look for?" He knew perfectly well what that look was for. Romano was getting turned on by this. Spain couldn't help but smirk to himself.  He had trained his little Italian well.

       Romano startled at the tap to his nose and he wiped away remnants of gelato with the back of his hand.  "What's  _ what _ look...bastard, why are you staring at me like that?!"  A furious blush crept into his face. Spain's lazy smirk was soon coupled by a knowing chuckle.  Romano tried to push his chair away from the table but Spain caught his hand, dragging him closer across the table.  Romano knew it was pointless to fight him, especially now on the crowded boardwalk. Spain couldn’t help but use that knowledge to his advantage.  He kicked off his sandals, raising a foot beneath the table and pressing it lightly against Romano's crotch. The Italian's expression morphed from defiance to pleasure in half a second.  He let out a low moan, quickly biting his lip to restrain any further sound. Spain chuckled again.

       "This excited by a little ice cream?" Spain noted, a mocking tone slipping into his voice.  He pressed his foot against the seams in Romano’s shorts, massaging the Italian gently with his toes.  Romano let out a little whine. Spain quirked an eyebrow in amusement at the other's reactions.

       Romano cracked open an eye, trying to appear angry with the Spaniard, expression ruined by the haze of pleasure and want clouding the Italian's features.  He managed a breathy, "B-bastard...I'll fuckin--" His threat was cut off in a breathy moan, spurred by the hard press of Spain’s heel against his prominent arousal.  His fingernails dug into Spain's wrist where he was holding him.

       "What was that?" Spain ventured teasingly.  "Couldn't hear you. Sounded something like 'fuck me'?"  

       Romano attempted to glare at Spain.  Spain returned it with a soft smirk. They both knew who had the upper hand here.  Spain dipped a finger into the gelato container, rimming a finger along the edges to collect the melting remnants.  He held out his dripping finger to Romano. "Want a taste?"

       Romano couldn't say no.  He leaned forward and ran his tongue along Spain's offered digit.  He closed his lips around his finger and sucked the gelato off him.  Spain's heart fluttered at the other's expression. When Romano pulled back, so did Spain.  He slipped his feet back into his sandals and stood, leaving Romano at the table.

       "Stay there.  I need some more gelato."  He gave Romano a knowing look as he turned and disappeared down the boardwalk, leaving a very uncomfortable Romano alone at the small table.  


End file.
